Sanford Ellicott was
nothing if not a patient spirit. He was used to biding his time,
looking for an opening, and waiting for the best moment to strike.
He watched the two young men and the two teenagers as they worked out
their plan, and waited for the three youngest to disappear around the
corner before following the lone man deeper into the asylum. He
laughed to himself, knowing the futility of their actions. There
wasn't an exit to be found, and there was no way that four
wet-behind-the-ears kids were going to be able to stop him.

Dean cursed under his
breath as he hurried toward room 137. He hated to split up again,
but he couldn't see another choice. If those damned stupid kids
hadn't been running around the place, he was sure that he and Sam
would've been done by now. Or, at least, they'd still be
together. He hoped that Sam wouldn't run into any trouble that he
couldn't handle.

Finding the room and
the hidden journal, Dean settled down to flip through it, looking for
any hints of what could have happened there to provoke a riot. He
grimaced at the notes and pictures. That doctor was one sick
bastard. No wonder the patients fought back.

Hearing a noise behind
him, he turned, but didn't see anyone there. "Getting jumpy,
aren't you?" He mumbled to himself, turning back to the book.
He found a reference to a lab in the basement of the asylum, and ran
his finger under the words, re-reading. "Got it!" he exclaimed,
slamming the book shut and jumping to his feet. As he turned around,
he saw a flash of movement, but didn't have time to react before
Dr. Ellicott grabbed his head. He felt pain as the doctor pushed his
way into his head, then a terrifying loss of control as the invading
spirit took over his body. He could see what was happening – his
senses were intact – and he could feel the doctor rifling through
his thoughts, but he couldn't react as he felt himself pushed out
of the way into a small corner of his own mind.

Dr. Ellicott reveled in
the strength of the body he inhabited. Picking up the shotgun that
his host – he searched the mind for a name and came up with Dean
Winchester – had laid aside, he went looking for the other
trespassers. A little more digging produced their names as well, two
relative strangers and a little brother.

"Oh, Sammy," he
crooned, stepping out into the hallway. "Big brother's coming."

The three kids were
clustered together near one of the exits. Like lambs to the
slaughter, he thought. Stepping into view, he lifted the shotgun and
pointed it at the brother. "Sammy," he said softly, "I'm
ho-ome."

Sam turned and looked
at his brother, shock and realization on his face. He moved his
hands out from his sides, still holding his own shotgun, but not
pointing it yet. "Dean, you don't want to do this. Something's
messing with your head." He moved slowly in front of the two
teenagers, protecting them as best he could.

"You're messing
with my head, Sammy. All that whining and complaining. I can't
listen to that shit anymore. Why don't you just grow up?"

Sam just stared at him.
Dean's face was set and his eyes were cold. There was no sign of
the big brother that he was used to. "Dean, please, you have to
fight this. I don't want to have to hurt you," he said
desperately.

Dean smirked, "Try
it. I always win Sam. I always will." He adjusted his hands on
the shotgun and his finger tightened on the trigger. Sam willed
himself to bring his own weapon up, knowing that he was already too
late, but froze when he saw an expression of anger and confusion on
his brother's face. Dean's shotgun clattered to the floor.

Dean watched from
inside his head as the doctor threatened his brother, but when he
felt the spirit's intention to shoot Sam he gathered his fear and
anger around himself as a weapon and lashed out, fighting for all he
was worth.

Ellicott was used to
some resistance from his subjects, but they almost always gave up and
resigned themselves to their fate. He was completely taken by
surprise when his host attacked him, forcing him back momentarily.

"Sammy," Dean
hissed, struggling to maintain control. "You've got to tied me up
and go find the bones. There's a secret room in the basement.
Hurry up! I can't hold him much longer."

Sam leaped forward and
grabbed his brother's arms, subduing him. "Gavin, Kat, belts,
shoelaces, whatever you can find! Quick!" He used his own belt to
secure his brother's arms, then grabbed his shoulders, looking into
his eyes. "Dean? Where in the basement?"

Dean laughed. It was
an ugly sound, and Sam knew that his brother was gone again. "You'll
never find it, little boy."

Pushing his brother
aside, Sam turned to the two teenagers. "Tie him up and watch him.
I'll be back as soon as I can." Grabbing up a shotgun, he ran
off down the hall.

Ellicott was angry. He
hadn't felt fear in … longer than he could remember. And now
these stupid men, boys really, had come, and they were endangering
everything that he had worked so hard on. He pushed away from the
body he was inhabiting, intent on following the younger brother, but
found himself trapped. This was a new experience too. His hosts
were usually dead or dying when he left them, and those that were
still aware were always glad to see him go. But this mind – this
boy – was fighting to hold on to him, to give his brother time to
find his lab and burn his bones. He fought back furiously and
finally managed to tear away, bursting out of the boy's mouth and
nose in a spray of blood. He was satisfied to hear a scream of pain
from his host as he disappeared around the corner.

Dean shouted in pain as
the doctor broke free from his body. As he struggled to regain his
senses, he felt blood running down his chin and saw the terrified
expressions on the faces of Gavin and Kat. Gavin was staring at him,
while his girlfriend was looking down the hall after the doctor's
spirit.

She blinked and moved
quickly to his side, pulling him free of his bindings. She brushed
Gavin off when he asked, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"We just saw that
thing get away," she pointed out.

Dean climbed unsteadily
to his feet. It felt like his head was about to explode. Maybe
that's because it just did, he thought crazily. "You guys stay
right here. I've got to go help Sam." He took a few steps and
tipped dizzily into the wall.

"Dean, I don't
think…" Kat started.

"Just wait here,"
he ordered, using the wall to prop himself up and following it around
the corner.

Dean staggered and
stumbled his way to the basement, calling for Sam. His fear grew
each time his brother failed to answer his calls. Blinking rapidly
in an attempt to clear his tunnel vision, he set out to find the
secret room. He tripped and almost fell, turning back to see their
duffel bag of supplies on the floor. "Sammy?" he tried one more
time. There was still no answer.

Dragging the bag with
him, Dean entered a small empty room. Closer examination of one wall
revealed what had to be a secret door. He leaned against it,
marshalling his strength to try to break through.

"Ahem."

At the sound of a
throat clearing, Dean whirled around to see his brother standing
behind him.

"Sammy," he said in
relief.

"I'm afraid not."
The answer came in his brother's voice, and there was a little
smile on his face, but the expression didn't reach his eyes as he
brought his shotgun up, leveling it at Dean's chest.

"Sam, I know you can
fight it," Dean said desperately.

"I'm sorry, boy,"
the thing in his brother's body told him, almost pleasantly. "I
made a mistake with you that I'm not going to repeat. Your brother
can't even hear you now." Cocking his head to the side, he
studied Dean carefully before continuing. "It kind of takes the
fun out of it when the subject isn't aware of what he's doing,
but who would have thought that you boys would be so strong? Why is
that, do you think?"

Dean stared at him
blankly, struggling with his aching head and the concept of Sam's
possession. Ellicott shrugged Sam's shoulders. "I guess it
isn't important," he said, pulling the trigger of the shotgun,
sending Dean tumbling through the wall.

Dean returned to his
senses to see Sam – no, Ellicott, he reminded himself – standing
over him. "What do you think," the doctor asked
conversationally, "if I use your brother to kill you, will he take
his own life? I'm not really sure. He has a lot of issues with
you, a lot of anger, you know?"

Sam's face turned
reflective as the doctor pondered the answer, and Dean chose that
moment to strike, knocking him aside and hitting him hard in the jaw.
He braced himself, expecting the doctor to leave his brother's
unconscious body and attack his mind, but apparently once had been
enough. Clutching his chest with one arm, Dean grabbed the duffel
bag with the other, staggering around the room, searching for the
bones. He hit pay dirt, finding them in a small cabinet, partially
decomposed and really smelly. He gagged as he covered them with salt
and lighter fluid.

The doctor must have
decided that an external attack would be safer than another trip into
his head. A rolling cart slammed into his side, knocking the wind
out of him and reigniting the pain in his chest. He reached for the
lighter as the doctor materialized in front of him, and could sense
the spirit's desperation as it latched onto his head once again.
In spite of the pain in his head and chest, the second fight was
easier, although he was relieved when the bones went up in flames and
the doctor pulled away. Sam was stirring next to him, and he turned
his aching body to his brother in concern.

"You okay?"

Sam met his eyes for a
minute then, taking in his injuries, looked away guiltily. "Yeah."

"Good," Dean
answered. He struggled to his feet, shakily, fighting the blackness
around the edges of his vision. "Let's get the hell out of
here."

Dean leaned against the
Impala, letting his brother do the talking as they sent the teenagers
on their way. His head was pounding in time with his heartbeat. He
heard Sam call his name, and lifted his head to look at him.

"I'm really sorry.
I didn't mean…"

"Sammy, I know. It
wasn't you back there. Can we do this later? It feels like
someone's playing pinball in my head." He turned away and felt
his way along the car. Tossing the bag in the back seat, he lowered
himself gingerly into the driver's seat, grasping the steering
wheel in a death grip as he clenched his jaw against the pain. Sam
stood outside for a minute before joining him. The brothers sat in
the car together for a minute. They were only a few feet apart, but
each was alone; Dean with his pain, and Sam with his guilt. Reaching
down, Dean started the car and pulled away from the asylum.

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